Whipped: My Band is Better than Yours
by oozorawesomeREIJI
Summary: The Transformers are humanized and they are in boy bands. Against their will, they have to go to a band competition at the nerdy Cybertronian Convention. Discontinued.
1. But what can you do?

**A/N: All human. The word (and variations of it) "whipped" will be a bit of a running gag. (Sari can whip many people at the same time, and Blackarachnia can only whip one person at a time.) Oh, and I'm fully aware that 'human Bumblebee' has dark hair in TFA, but he's blond here just.. 'cause.**

**So, dork writing ahoy! I know nothing about music, other than the fact that my favourite bands know how to play instruments. :) **

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****Whipped: My Band is Better than Yours**

**01 – But what can you do?**

"Um." He felt skeptical, at best. "That's probably... not the best idea."

"You're the one who wanted to start the band in the first place," Sari reminded him, rolling her eyes. She snickered. "And, as manager of the Autobots, I _will _have the costumes made, Bumblebee."

He wasn't quite up to arguing with her. Provoking Sari was a very dangerous thing, and it was best avoided. Bumblebee groaned and shook his head, trying not to think about it _too_ hard. "Have you asked Optimus yet?" he inquired hopefully. Optimus would probably convince her to call the costumes off, right?

"Don't worry," said Sari smugly. "I've got it _all_ covered. So you'd better get used to it." Her eyes flashed wickedly, and Bumblebee was finding it harder and harder to convince himself that Sari was supposed to be his best friend.

"Do you like, have ulterior motives or something?"

Sari twirled the pen in her hand, her face the picture of complete innocence. "Why can't you trust me?"

"I don't know," Bumblebee admitted. "There's just something horribly wrong with imagining myself _wearing_ that." He pointed at the overhead screen, blue eyes screwed shut.

She merely smiled at him. "Like I said, you'd better get used to it. _I'm_ the manager."

***

"Optimus. We have a _problem_," insisted Bumblebee, waving his arms desperately. "Can't you fix it?? I don't want to wear... fishnet shirts and... _crop tops_! She can't – you can't _let_ her do this to me!"

The band members nodded glumly. No one was willing to accept the fact that they actually had to wear Sari's idea of 'costumes.'

Finally, Optimus Prime shook his head. "I can't do anything about it," he sighed. "Sari's in charge, Bumblebee."

He tried to clear the terrified thoughts from his head, but his voice shook anyway. "You can't be _serious_."

Eight year old Sari Sumdac strolled into the room, clipboard in hand. She looked at the depressed band members contemptuously, and made a big show of huffing loudly. "What," she snapped, "is _wrong_?"

"Ugh, nothing!" said Bumblebee, flinching. Sari glared at him. "Really," he protested, eyes on the floor.

She beamed at him. "Well, the costumes are coming tonight," Sari chirped. "I signed you up for a _huge_ competition that starts tomorrow, by the way."

Optimus, for once, was stunned. "That's... Sari," he shook his head, "we didn't sign for it!" The voice of reason, thought Bumblebee in relief.

"Too bad," she whispered, her voice whipping them into submission. Sari smiled sweetly. "You'd better win, Autobots."

"All right," agreed Bumblebee, running a hand through his fair hair nervously.

"We should... probably practice," added Optimus, his voice cracking from pressure.

Their manager smirked, eyes glinting. "That's right."

"Sometimes I wonder how someone half my age can boss us around like that," remarked Bumblebee.

"Don't question it," said Optimus Prime wearily.

***

"These costumes," spat Starscream, "are preposterous." He was feeling particularly annoyed today.

The main singer and group leader, sixty year old Megatron, ignored this comment with practiced ease. When he opened his mouth to speak, his voice was level. "Thank you, Blackarachnia," he said, nodding to the manager of the Decepticons.

Starscream gaped. "Oh, _what_?" he hissed, not accepting the fact that he'd been ignored.

"I think the costumes are good," said Lugnut, also ignoring Starscream. He said this not because he was sycophantic, but because he really believed that whatever Megatron decided was the right choice.

The Blitzwing triplets had three different reactions.

"Meh," said Icy expressionlessly, clearly apathetic to the whole situation.

Hothead was annoyed, though, vocalizing this with various scowls and mutterings of "this is _stupid_" and "I'm _not_ wearing that!" This was expected, of course – not that Megatron cared.

So it was sort of refreshing when Random got excited about the prospect of wearing a crop top with flowery trim.

And Swindle just felt out of place. "Um, I never signed up to be in this band," he said conversationally.

Blackarachnia consulted her clipboard. "We need someone on the xylophone," she said flatly, "especially since we're going to be playing at a competition tomorrow." She crossed her arms. "And," she fixed her eyes on Swindle's, "the Decepticons will stop at nothing to win."

"I figured that was the point of the band name," Swindle quipped, trying to surreptitiously edge toward the door.

"So you're staying." It was a statement, not a request. Her eyes glittered from across the table. "Don't try to escape."

Finding that he was whipped, Swindle was forced to relent. He scratched his head. "I'm not so sure –" he began, but when the xylophone was forcibly rammed into his hands (which _really_ hurt), all he could do was nod, mouth agape. "I... can't wait to put on my costume?" he sad weakly.

Megatron hadn't hired her just for kicks. Swindle chewed his lower lip nervously.

"Well, this sucks –" he began, but the glare he received from Blackarachnia shut him up.

And Starscream just scowled, the rage robbing him of coherent words.

***  
Band practice with the Autobots is a nail-biting, strained affair. With Sari Sumdac screeching orders and band members trying not to cry, stress levels are cranked to their highest.

Bumblebee wondered why he'd ever wanted to be in a band in the first place. He was fifteen years old now, highly impressionable – and irrational. Having a band was so _idealistic_. Which was probably why he'd done it in the first place, despite the fact that he still had school. The promises of fame and glitz and _fast cars_ had lured him in. And Sari, his domineering, control freak, way-too-mouthy-for-her-age best friend, thought it was a good idea.

When Sari made up her mind, everything was pretty much set.

And because Sari was so 'influential,' she'd managed to round up all the band members they needed on day one. In no time at all, Bumblebee had found himself with a ragtag group he had no idea what to do with.

There was Bulkhead, his friend from Math Essentials – and the only person Sari hadn't hand-picked herself. Then there was Optimus Prime, the nice neighbour from next door, whom Bumblebee was on pretty good terms with. Then middle-aged Ratchet, who seemed to be Sari's family doctor – Bumblebee didn't know how _he _got to be in his band, but he traced it back to the girl's influential prowess, which worked effectively as an explanation. Finally, Prowl: that yoga instructor Bumblebee met once on a school fieldtrip. (He'd snuck out early, so the memory was vague.)

As he'd scratched his head to figure out what to say to his newfound band, Sari neatly took command as manager. In less than an hour she'd had all the instruments assigned and "The Autobots" (Bumblebee's dream band name) were getting along quite well.

Day one was Bumblebee's favourite band experience, as the members freely admitted that they had absolutely no musical talent whatsoever. The chitchat was nice.

And then Sari cracked the whip.

Ever since then, the Autobots had been ruled by fear, and their musical talent had miraculously spiked. They didn't even dare ask, "Why should I be so afraid of an eight year old girl?" because Sari knew how to effectively use her voice and facial expressions – and combined, they were terrifying. Even Optimus Prime, a natural leader, was easily manipulated by Sari's capable and ruthless hands.

Currently, most band members were on the verge of tears. Bulkhead was playing the drums, with Sari screaming, "Do it _RIGHT_!" – which put him on the edge of hysteria.

Meanwhile, Bumblebee was belting out the intro to the first song on the set list, "Rolling." It had been written by the lead singer himself, and was by all means quite awful.

_I'm... rolling on the... wheels of this crappy bus_

_But what I _

_Reaaallllllllly_

_Want_

_Is a _

_SHINY_

_NEW_

_CAR..._

"That's _awful_!" screeched Sari, voice laced with disgust. She covered her ears pointedly.

Bumblebee shrugged. "Well, I wrote it was ten."

"So I was _three_ at the time," she retorted, throwing her hands up exasperatedly, "and I could've written something way better!"

"Well, maybe his costume will... negate any opposing feelings?" suggested Prowl, a little meekly.

She brightened. "That _was_ the main reason I let you keep it in the first place," she said thoughtfully.

Bumblebee sighed. "Well, I guess we'd better try those costumes on later, huh? Even though they'll be awful," he groaned.

"They're cute!" protested Sari venemously. "Hot, even. It's what all the teenage girls want," she added, eyes glinting. "You're the _perfect_ eyecandy!" She'd clearly done her research.

The blond winced. "Uh, okay," he said. "I don't really care about that stuff, though. I thought we were more based on music, and _cars_ –"

"Look." She fixed the most intimidating stare into those usually carefree blue eyes. "You _care_," she ordered, "because that's how the Autobtos are going to succeed. Isn't that right?"

"Yes," chorused the band, the exhaustion evident in their faces.

"Good," she smiled. "Now _play_! We have a competition to win tomorrow."


	2. Arrival

A/N: I am _so_ one of those kids at the back of the bus. Yee. Nerds are so kewl. :3

**02 – Arrival**

The Autobots were _not_ looking forward to the day ahead of them. Cybertronian Convention, indeed! Sari had a thing for spur of the moment decisions, and this seemed like one of them. It didn't matter though. It wasn't like any of them had a chance of arguing with her.

"I bet this competition is gonna make our rep die," confided Bumblebee to Bulkhead, as they stood outside in the parking lot. He squinted in the sun, and pulled the hem of his striped yellow and black shirt down.

"Um, I don't think we _have_ a rep yet," said Bulkhead.

"Huh, I guess not... Well, it's seven. Time to –"

"Everyone on the bus!" Sari's commanding voice pierced through any and all conversations. The band had met up at Sumdac Tower at 6:30AM sharp, and despite their misgivings, they'd be lying if they said they weren't excited. As long as they looked beyond the fact that they were going to be _playing_, it was actually exhilarating.

"All right!" cheered Bumblebee. "To the nerd convention!" He jumped into the bus, throwing his backpack into the seat.

It was a beautiful summer day, and negativity was not an option. Everyone was decked out in some variation of shorts and T-shirt. Sari had ultra-cool sunglasses on as well, to enhance her 'boss' role. As she double-checked everyone's luggage to make sure all the instruments and costumes were in order, the other band members filed onto the bus.

"Okay!" Sari beamed. Even though she was a terrifying manager, she was still an eight year old going on an exciting trip. Everyone seemed to prefer this side of her, although they still moved cautiously if they were in her immediate vicinity. "Bye, Dad!" she yelled, giving her father a hug before leaping into the bus to sit next to Bumblebee. "You can start driving, Optimus!" She shot Bumblebee a genuine grin. "We are _so_ going to win this."

***  
Swindle still didn't get what was so important about having a xylophone in a rock band, but he didn't linger on it. Instead, he focused his concentration on getting his bus fare out. He and Starscream were taking public transit, because Megatron didn't want them in his car.

"We should just not go," Swindle said.

Starscream stared at him, eyes bloodshot; probably the result of arguing with Megatron all last night about why he didn't want to go. "Maybe," he spat at Swindle, "if they didn't have tracking devices and microphones on us. And the only way of getting them off is to put in whatever Megatron's _passwords_ are. Clearly you need to cover your bases before you make _pointless_ suggestions like that."

"Wow. Uh, sorry." Swindle sighed, setting his suitcase on the bench. "What's Megatron even going to do about it, though?"

A sardonic glance. "I'm _not_ talking about that."

"I sort of miss last week, when I was a salesperson instead of a xylophone player for the Decepticons."

***  
"We're finally here," said Optimus Prime, stretching his arms out.

Immediately upon arrival, Sari was all business, all traces of excited eight year old gone. Pulling her shades off, she jumped from her seat and set to work. "Wake _up_, Bulkhead!" she yelled to the overweight seventeen year old sitting at the back of the Sumdac tourbus.

"Wha – ?" he said groggily, rubbing his eyes. He was suddenly face to face with one Sari Sumdac, hands on hips, eyes staring intensely. "_Agh! _I'm awake!!"

"All right," she said, nodding. "So, Autobots! Are we ready?!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.

Bumblebee flashed his best friends the thumbs-up. "Let's go kick this competition's ass," he proclaimed, arrogance temporarily returning before Sari could brutally crush it again.

Those were the words Sari wanted to hear. "That's exactly what we're going to do," she said, a sadistic smile spreading across her face, eyes alight with glee. She strode to the front of the bus. "Let's get our stuff out, guys. Time to hit the hotel, then we'll have a band meeting so I can give you the itinerary." Cheerful Sari came back, for a brief moment. "This is gonna be so fun!"

***  
Half an hour of dragging luggage up to their hotel rooms later, the band met in Sari's suite, which she was sharing with Bumblebee.

"So what's the plan, boss?" Bumblebee asked the obvious question. The others nodded silently.

Sari grabbed her clipboard, which was a tackily designed piece of band merchandise. A group shot of the guys, all with jaded, tired eyes, adorned the back of the board.

"Nice clipboard," remarked Bulkhead.

"Thanks. I'll be putting 'em in mass production after we win this competition. Then they can go on the online store, next to those hoodies I had printed back in September." Sari paused for a moment, deep in thought. "We'll probably need better eyecandy for the clipboards than this test product, though. But never mind...." She checked her watch. "We have a lot of time before the actual competition starts."

"Which means...?" Bumblebee flopped onto the bed beside her, kicking his legs out over the side.

_Band practice?! _The thought was in everyone's head, and they really didn't want to have a repeat of last night. The sheer _angst_ filled their eyes with horror.

But Sari said something else entirely. "We get to look around the convention for a couple of hours! I want to scout out the other bands, but you guys can do whatever." She propped her feet up on the desk in front of her, and Prowl moved back to give her room. Her voice dropped dangerously, "Don't do anything _stupid_, though. And get back here at six!"

The Autobots nodded their assent, and Sari handed maps of the Cybertronian Convention grounds out.

As the members left the room, Sari turned toward Bumblebee, who was still lying on his stomach, tracing the shapes of the bedspread with his finger. "Can you go with me?" she asked, giving him the full effect of Innocent and Charming Sari.

He sighed. "Oh, okay." He knew he would regret it, but... he was so _weak_! He got off the bed and took her hand as they made their way out of the hotel.

"You ready for some hardcore stuff, Bumblebee?" she asked, as they walked through the hotel's automatic glass doors.

"I hope so." His grip on her hand grew tighter, and she smirked.

***

"Hey we're at the convention!" said Swindle, trying to be somewhat upbeat. All the nerds, clad in their precious Nintendo hoodies, cheered from the back of the bus. In a frenzy of excitement, they bent down to rub their glasses and gaming consoles clean.

Starscream just scowled and continued to work on his plans for sabotage (none of which had a good opening to lead to step 2 – "kill Megatron") as he moved to get off the bus.

"_Omguh_," screeched a nerd, running up to Starscream. He was sporting grimy spectacles and a faded Decepticons T-shirt tucked into baggy jeans. "You're from my favourite band!"

As much as Starscream enjoyed attention, he found it more than a little unnerving that the kid had merchandise when they'd never even played a single concert.

"I watch Megatron's video blog," said the fanboy breathlessly, sticking his thumbs into his belt loops. "And-And," he continued, fumbling with his day pack to fish out a tuba (which really shouldn't have been able to fit), "I play this 'cause you're my hero!"

"Oh God," said Starscream, frantically looking around for Swindle. Turning to the kid, "How the hell do you know who I am? How the _fuck _did you manage to get a Decepticons _shirt_?!" Extremely reasonable questions.

The boy shuffled his feet nervously, putting the tuba back into his bag. "Um... they're on your website. I mean, I know you've never played at a concert or anything, but your manager put up an EP and I _love_ nerdcore so I got as much merchandise as I could. You guys are awesome!" He smiled nervously.

"Ah... ha..." said Starscream, at a loss for words. Of _course_ no one mentioned an online store to _him_.

At that precise moment, the kid's friend, wearing an extremely baggy EarthBound hoodie, yelled, "_Damn_ it, Simon, we're gonna be late!"

"Oh, sorry, Jeff!" Simon turned to Starscream once more. "I'll uh... see you at the competition tonight! I can't wait!"

As Starscream fled off the bus, face flaming from the awkwardness, he overheard Jeff saying, "_Ha_, the _Decepticons_? Dude, they suck! Autobots for the win, dumbass."


	3. Psych Out

A/N: LOL, I really cranked the drama up. Consider the genres I put this under: how seriously you take this is up to you. A bit on the sweary side. What do you _expect_ from a twenty-five year old Starscream?

**03 – Psych Out**

Bumblebee pulled the yellow baseball cap over his head. He and Sari were going undercover. "You sure this is really _necessary_?" he asked. The normally adventurous boy wasn't quite sure what Sari was up to, and he didn't know if he wanted to carry her plans out. Caution: one of the factors of that thing called... Common Sense? that Optimus always exercised. It was a useful trait, Bumblebee discovered, as he watched Sari stick batteries into the camcorder.

The girl pushed the shades up her nose, heaving an exasperated sigh. "Of _course_ I think it's necessary, Bumblebee," she said, shoving her camcorder into the stylish Autobots messenger bag. "We need to find out as much as we can about our opponents!"

Bumblebee nodded. As she struggled to swing the bulging bag over her shoulder, he reached over to take it from her hands. "I'll carry it."

"Thanks," she said, giving him a hug. "Well then, I guess... our first stop is..." she consulted the map, "Cybertron's gaming demo centre. Omigosh, _that_'ll be fun!"

Any mention of video games would send Bumblebee running in that direction, she knew, and Sari smiled to herself as he went off like a shot, messenger bag swinging at his waist.

She clicked her tongue thoughtfully. Her competitive side licked its lips, going in for the kill. She was going to have fun.

***

The sixteen year old wiped his fingers on his the ratty striped blazer, absently peering into the convention grounds. Too bad he was broke; he'd never be able to pay the entrance fee. The boy's eyes narrowed, green flashes of petulance. He clutched the end of his violin tightly.

One of the flyers for the convention blew past him in the breeze. He reached out with a hand to grab it. The words came tumbling from his mouth then, his mind fumbling with the grammar. "Wasp... Wasp want to play here." He licked his chapped lips. "Show them," he stared at the colourful picture of the Autobots, "how to play. Wasp know how to play real music." The boy crumpled the flyer up viciously with his free hand and shoved it into the pocket of his torn jeans.

Sullenly he crossed the street, and edged toward the convention's entrance. He closed his eyes and played the first song that came to mind: something moody and dark. It was evident that he possessed some sort of talent – but would his emo homeless image really pull him through? He looked like he could devour the convention attendees if he got close enough.

There was definitely something untamed about him, but he didn't seem inclined to haphazardly kill anyone just yet. So security was happy enough to avoid doing their job and let the boy loiter. Now, if only he played something less depressing.....

***

His fingers mashed the buttons tirelessly, getting an aerial combo there, and a merciless juggle here. It was the benefit of not having a life, Sari thought with amusement, as she watched her best friend destroy his pixelated adversaries with ridiculous skill. If he wasn't singing for the band, Bumblebee was probably holed up in Sari's room, playing video games.

But hey, he was _good_. The teen tilted the analog stick at just the right angle, while tapping a combination of buttons in perfect sequence. The character he controlled, a little girl in a pink dress (the most broken character _ever_, he'd insisted) beamed at him from the screen as his ninetieth opponent fell.

The kid next to him on the couch groaned. "I've been practicing twenty-four seven for a _year_," he said, wiping the sweat from his palms onto his shirt, "and I can't even beat _you_?"

Sari laughed and walked over, poking Bumblebee in the shoulder to try and get his attention. "Maybe you just suck," she said to the whiny kid beside Bumblebee, who promptly huffed at her and left. She tugged at her best friend's shirtsleeve, trying to get him off the couch. "_Hey_," she hissed urgently.

Bumblebee was completely absorbed by the game, and he couldn't be bothered to hear her. Any possible consequences were disregarded. Not necessarily the best decision, he was remind a moment alter, as Sari pulled him none-too-gently from his haze. She unplugged the console, and the TV flickered. The smiling face of Bumblebee's character disappeared.

The boy was completely _shattered_. "S-Sari," he managed to sputter, his grip on reality shaky at best. The migraine he didn't know he'd gotten slammed into the back of his head and all he could do was sigh.

Sari fixed him with a glare. "It's time to do what we actually _came_ for," she said, her voice cutting him like a knife.

"Uh... how long have I been playing, anyway?" The controller slipped from his fingers to the floor.

"Ten minutes." Bumblebee was about to protest that she could give him 'like, ten _more_ minutes,' when she jerked head to the building's door. "If my information is correct – which it is, because I paid off inside sources – that's one of our opponents right there."

"Oh." He jumped off the couch, rubbing his eyes. The colours were still flashing everywhere. Seriously, _ten minutes_? Then he saw them. Five practically identical teenage boys with inch-thick glasses and meticulously neat hair walked through.

Bumblebee heard Sari giggle from in front of him. "Well, they can't be much of a threat. Look at them, walking around in single file!"

"_That's_ our competition?" Bumblebee was incredulous. "You've got to be joking. I thought they were tourists or fanboys. They don't _look_ like musicians. Well, uh, I guess I don't either. But they actually entered?!"

Fighting laughter, Sari nodded. She scanned her clipboard for information. "They're called the Pocket Protectors, and they _try_ to rap about computers and measuring tapes while playing... uh, classical music."

"Anything else I should know?" whispered Bumblebee as the Pocket Protectors marched toward the couch and set up the game. His eyes flicked to the TV screen so he could gauge their skill at the game.

Sari smirked, and Bumblebee swore he saw something malicious flash in her eyes –

Deliberately walking toward the Pocket Protectors with what seemed to be glee, Sari gesticulated dramatically with her Autobots clipboard and opened her mouth to speak. "Hey," she said, her voice friendly, to start. Her face didn't betray the sick thrill she was feeling. Instead she exuded an overall cheerful demeanour, and one of the Pocket Protectors paused the game to look at her expectantly.

'Oh God no,' thought Bumblebee. He pulled the brim of his cap over his eyes so he wouldn't be noticed. Breathing in shallowly, he made for the exit, stopping outside the door to wait for Sari.

"Hi, we're the Pocket Protectors," greeted one of the boys from the couch. He looked to be about sixteen, Bumblebee figured, sneaking a glance from the safety of the doorway.

Sari nodded at the boy, her smile growing predatory now. "You're competing in the band-off tonight, right?" she asked, even though she knew the answer.

"Yeah," he replied. "Why?"

"I hope you're used to losing," she said acidly, her voice effortlessly changing its tone to suit her needs. Her eyes bored into his _soul_. "You should just quit now."

***

Bumblebee frowned. "So uh... this scouting out thing is just so you can scare our opponents? Are you sure it's allowed?"

"Oh, it's _fine_," she said, waving it away with her hand.

"Yeah, it just shows that you're a creepy person with no soul. It's _fine_."

"Hey, those guys can actually play their instruments _well_," retorted Sari. "You'll thank me later when that guy's tuba playing goes down the drain.... I think I really psyched them out!"

The teen just shuddered and bent to pick up Sari's bag. "Where to next?"

***

"Wow, they play depressing music here," remarked Swindle, staring at Wasp (who glared back menacingly). The violin screeched in response, making the xylophone player wince and trip over his suitcase.

"No one _cares_," snapped Starscream, glowering. He shoved his hand into his bag, pulling out the ticket he'd need to get inside.

The two of them showed the person at the door their tickets and then they proceeded to drag their luggage in with them. They didn't know where the rest of the band was, but knowing Megatron....

"That son of a bitch _knows_ we're here," Starscream hissed. "He can hear every word we say and he knows _exactly _where we are."

Swindle scratched his head. "Does that have any relevance to whether he's going to come get us or not?"

The twenty-five year old appeared to be deep in thought, though Swindle dismissed it as an illusion – because in those two seconds, Starscream was neither scowling nor smiling sadistically. And Swindle didn't want his nice, stable idea of Starscream's personality to be destroyed. So he felt relief flooding him in waves when Starscream started whingeing.

"He's _not _going to come pick us up, and we are going to get _lost_ and then he'll fucking blame _me_ when he has to drag his ass to wherever we end up going so we're not late for the damn concert!"

Swindle nodded blankly. "You could've told me to stop trying to be so cheerful earlier if you knew this was going to happen. This is why optimism just brings people down."

"_Shit_," swore Starscream, for the sake of swearing.

***

It was almost peaceful without Sari around, Optimus Prime decided. Almost... _serene_. Everyone had noticeably dropped their guard, and the atmosphere wasn't as tense.

"Well, four hours to go," said Ratchet, checking the digital clock lying on the bedside table.

Optimus winced. "Don't count _down_, Ratchet. I'm really not looking forward to whatever Sari has planned."

"Yeah, and how she needs six hours to get us prepped," added Bulkhead, looking up from his sketchbook.

"It does start at twelve in the morning, doesn't it?" mused Prowl, as he lay on the bed at the left side of the room. At the moment, his eyes were closed restfully. "We'll probably have a long night ahead, knowing Sari. I suggest we all get some rest."

The four band members were all staying in a single cramped room. The beds were all laid out against the wall, with tiny spaces in between that barely fit their suitcases. There was a bedside table in the middle; and a single tiny washroom was on the left side, near Prowl's bed.

Overall, it was a tight fit. Sari had skimped out on this for a _reason_, Optimus assumed, and he shuddered to think why. It wasn't like their budget was anywhere small, Sari being the daughter of the largely successful Isaac Sumdac.

"Well, I'm going to sleep," Optimus Prime announced, lying down on the bed that was next to Prowl's. He closed his eyes, willing calm thoughts into his head.

"Three hours and forty minutes," said Ratchet, and Optimus rolled over on his side to glare at the doctor.

Wasp wished he could compete. He actually had _talent_; he wasn't like those pop artists who didn't know how to write their own music. He actually knew how to play the violin, damn it. The boy sighed, putting the instrument back into its case.

"Wasp... want to play..." he muttered, his voice indignant.

It wasn't _fair_. It wasn't his fault that... the incident left him like this: ravaged, raw – insane. Ruined. He didn't know how to start putting the pieces of his life back together. And he was only sixteen. The therapists said there was something wrong. They said he shouldn't let it bother him so much. But it had eaten at his heart; invaded his dreams and thoughts until there was nothing left.

Absently he sank to the ground, clutching the violin case close to him with one hand. With the other he picked at the stray leaves that had fallen into his once neatly combed brown hair. Such was the result of having run away.

A sigh escaped his lips, and his face paled with silent rage. "Wasp _hate_ contemporary music!"

--

It was the annual Winters Music Academy competition, and Wasp couldn't wait. The winner would get a scholarship. On top of that they'd be able to apply to any music school they wanted. They could get _known_ if they showed that they had enough talent.

Fourteen year old Wasp knew he was capable, and he knew he would win.

Competitive with a mean streak, Wasp was the best violinist in the school. Although he'd constantly make fun of those whose hands fumbled and faltered, he'd worked hard to get to where he was.

Day in, day out: Wasp constantly practiced. The orphanage was pleased enough to have some sort of prodigy with them. He would be one less hassle once he became a success, after all.

Everyone was confident in Wasp's abilities. He was a genius when it came to music. If anyone was going to get the scholarship, it would be him, without a doubt. He could practically taste the success.

And then hell struck. She was probably the prettiest girl in the school. Golden curls framed her lovely face and her deep green eyes almost rivalled Wasp's. She flounced on stage, as confident as Wasp had been feeling moments before.

"I'm Skye Levity," she chimed, her voice bursting with self-assuredness. "I do contemporary singing!"

She was probably the only person who could even stand a chance against him. And he hated her for that. Skye was just so _perfect_. Wasp hissed, "I hate this bitch," just as she began to sing. Damn it, she was good....

Skye shot him the most _smug_ glance as she sauntered offstage, blowing him a kiss as her heels clicked past.

Casually he raised his middle finger to her retreating back, and took a deep breath. He was next. Wasp Wells. She had _nothing_ on him. Contemporary was crap. He picked up the violin and slowly made his way onstage, repeating this to himself in his head. His slicked back hair and brand new tie propelled him forward. He _knew_ he could do it.

What happened next was a disaster. He couldn't get the notes right at all; and for some reason, his usually carefully tuned strings seemed to play all wrong. He exited, his face white. No one clapped.

Wasp couldn't even sit through the agonizing results as the instructors read out names. Suddenly he just felt so empty, cold with horror as the realization dawned on him.

He'd lost to Skye Levity –

--

"Wasp _KILL_ contemporary music!" shrilled the sixteen year old, suddenly back in the warmth of the summer sunshine. His eyes burned and he clutched at his head desperately – anything to stop remembering.

--

"Sorry, Wells – you can only participate once. You only get one shot at the scholarship." The instructor sighed, crossing her arms. "And that performance was awful."

He scowled. "What can I do to be successful?!" His dream was falling to pieces!

"You're going to need money." She pursed her lips. "And if I'm not mistaken, Little's won't fund individual students."

Wasp felt an incredible white hot fury overtake him –

--

The orphanage took him to a few therapy sessions, in case there was hope for him getting over his initial disappointment. Besides, everyone was sick of hearing Wasp raging every night – a mixture of curse words, "contemporary music is CRAP!" and "Skye Levity is going to _die_."

The therapist, Ellie Reed, was the sort of person who tried to fix problems in the easiest way possible. Less effort was better.

And when Wasp tried explaining that his life was _ruined_, she just told him that it wasn't _that _much of a deal, because he had to "put things in perspective."

Wasp didn't think he _deserved_ the anger management course that the orphanage made him go through after he'd tried strangling the unsuccessful therapist. And it wasn't as though the anger management lessons helped.

His mind just became more and more twisted, revolving around destroying "that bitch" with classical music. He just learned to stop talking about it out loud.

And on his fifteenth birthday, he ran away.

--

"Excuse me, I'm Andy Smith, and I'm the organizer of the convention."

Wasp stared at the adult, green eyes slits of distrust. "What... you want with Wasp?" he demanded, clutching the violin case defensively.

The man continued, as if he didn't notice that Wasp was getting ready to beat him with the violin case. "I heard you playing," he began carefully, "and I was wondering if you wanted to participate in the competition."

The teen glared at him. "Wasp can't _afford_ the ticket."

"...Free of charge, then?" Smith asked. The kid was actually pretty talented, and Smith figured that, what with the nature of the other contestants, some talent might be necessary.

Wasp stared at him suspiciously. "What Wasp get if Wasp win?"

"A million dollars," said Smith, "and a chance to get known worldwide."

Damn straight Wasp was agreeing to that.

***

Megatron smiled as he listened to the audio feed. As usual, Starscream was making a big deal out of things. He almost felt sorry for Swindle.

"That fucking bastard!" screeched Starscream, after an hour of wandering around the convention with Swindle, baggage still in tow. Megatron was flattered. "I mean, _damn_, he can't even fucking pick us up!"

The lead singer didn't understand why Starscream had to call him names when he knew full well everything he said was going back to Megatron's earpiece. Well, it didn't matter. He'd make sure the tuba player met the consequences later.

"Blackarachnia," he said now. The manager nodded, placing an elbow on the conference table. "Could you arrange to... _retrieve_ Starscream and Swindle at eleven tonight?"

She nodded again. "I suppose you miss your toy," Blackarachnia remarked dryly. "How many strings am I expected to have to pull to do this?"

Megatron drummed his fingers on the wood table. "Perhaps a few," he said languidly, "but it shouldn't be too difficult for you. And rest assured that they will be punished for not taking the itinerary with them."

The manager for the Decepticons knew for a fact that Megatron had purposely neglected to give Starscream and Swindle key information (and she wasn't surprised that they hadn't asked for directions to the hotel, either), but she said nothing. She was used to Megatron's conniving, and she supported ulterior motives.

"All right," Blackarachnia responded, getting up to leave Megatron alone in the spacious suite. "I'll have it arranged."

***

_6:00 PM sharp, at Sari's suite_

"All right, guys," said Sari Sumdac, surveying the band with a malevolent gleam in her eyes. They could tell she was excited. She put her feet up on the table, and grabbed her clipboard. "Okay, everyone has their instrument, right?" Silently they nodded, and she ticked the square off. "Good, 'cause if you didn't you'd probably be dead. _Anyway_," she smiled, "time to get those costumes on."

Bumblebee sucked in his breath. He wasn't surprised to find that his stomach was nervously churning as he snuck a glance at the stacks of suitcases Sari had piled on the floor. "I'm sort of _scared_, you know?" he muttered under his breath to Bulkhead.

"Yeah, I know," Bulkhead sighed.

"Okay, I'm gonna need everyone to help me carry all those suitcases to the changing room," ordered Sari, getting off from her chair to point at the pile on the floor. "If it's marked '_costume_,' take it down, okay?"

Optimus Prime was already dragging a suitcase through the doorway. "How many hours will we need to prep?" he asked, ignoring the voice inside that told him he'd regret it.

A giggle. "Oh, you'll find out. It won't take _too_ long."

"She's lying." Bumblebee's whisper pierced the silence, and the Autobots gave him the 'Obviously, dumbass' look.

"Just take a damn suitcase and shut up," snapped Ratchet.

***

_6:30 PM, Autobots' dressing rooms in Cybertron's concert area_

"And that's it." Optimus heaved a sigh of relief as the tenth suitcase was rolled in through the door.

Sari paced around the dressing room, pausing to admire her reflection in the tacky light-up mirror. "_I'm_ ready for anything," she proclaimed, pulling her pigtails tighter. She turned to the band. "We have about five hours to get you guys set up, so why don't we get started now?" Sari smiled engagingly.

"Isn't that like, _way_ too much time?" asked Bumblebee. "I mean," he waved his arms almost _pleadingly_, "it's not like we're mainstream or anything –"

"Our fanbase is a lot bigger than you think," interrupted Sari nonchalantly, checking her phone for messages from said fanbase.

"– so why do we have to dress up so much? We're _nerdcore_, for God's sake!"

The manager shot him a glare. "If you would _listen_, Bumblebee, you'd _understand_!" she said scathingly. The blond bit his lip, and began to unconsciously muss his hair out of nervousness.

"Oh. Uh, could you repeat what you said then?" he mumbled.

"Fine," she huffed, crossing her arms. "As I just _said_, we have a pretty big fanbase, and..." she twirled one of her pigtails innocently, "the fangirls are _really_ set on these costumes. So it's not like you've got a choice."

"Oh. My _God_." Bumblebee burst into tears. "Oh... c-crap," he mumbled, his throat suddenly tight. This was too _emotional_ for him to handle; and the fact that the costumes were for real was almost too much for him to handle. He'd been in denial for too long, and the reality of his current situation hit him with such force that he was now wracked with sobs. And... the prospect of _fangirls_ was a definite downside, one to which he could name several bad qualities. So the crying was a much needed outlet for his overall terror, but it didn't make the teenager look any less pathetic.

Optimus Prime sighed, and decided it was time to attempt calming the hysterical boy down. "At least we're... ridiculously popular on the Internet," he said, wincing mentally as he wondered just _how_ they'd gotten popular in the first place.

Sari nodded vigorously. "Shut up, Bumblebee. It's not like you guys aren't getting paid triple for this anyway. And," she smirked at him, "I'm getting us popular, right?"

"Y-Yeah, you _really_ know how to make this better," Bumblebee replied, eyes still bright with tears. Sari shook her head impatiently.

"What_ever_. When you're done being bipolar you'd better get into your darn costume, okay?" She patted him on the shoulder, adding in a slightly softer tone (though the change really wasn't recognizable, and Bumblebee still didn't feel any better), "It'll be fine, all right?"

"...All right, Sari." He cracked a grin and rubbed his eyes. "I think I'm just nervous."

"You think?" said Sari, rolling her eyes and snapping back to business. "Okay, Autobots! That meltdown _never happened_, all right? Now let's get those costumes on!"

Bumblebee opened his mouth to say something witty, but he lost the gist of it when Sari came at him with a needle and assorted rings. She had a couple of Sharpies, too, but the boy was too preoccupied with screaming as Sari brandished the needle and waved antiseptic wipes at him.

***

_11 PM, Energon Bar_

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_," chanted Starscream methodically as he sipped at the restaurant's fizzy pink 'Energon' drink.

"Yay?" said Swindle, holding his head in his hands as he watched Starscream attempt to get wasted on the non-alcoholic Energon.

--

_5 minutes ago_

Swindle looked at Starscream anxiously, cocking his head to the side. "You do know that that's... non-alcoholic, right?"

"Shut the fuck up," snapped Starscream, "I can't afford anything _else_ with two dollars, _okay_?!"

"Oh, okay." Swindle felt oddly disheartened, perhaps because spending the entire day with an angst-ridden, raging Starscream was probably not the sanest thing to do. "I'll uh, just be sitting here. Across from you. Yeah." He slumped into his chair and let Starscream wallow in melodrama.

--

"Starscream, Swindle!" Blackarachnia, in a purple top-and-skirt ensemble, burst through the doors of the bar. "Megatron told me to get you two. Let's go."

"Oh, so the fucking bastard wants us back now, does he?" remarked Starscream snidely, glaring daggers through painfully bloodshot eyes at his manager.

Swindle had other concerns. "You know," he began, but no one was listening, "we've never had a practice as a band, and I don't know how to play the xylophone...."

"Just get in the taxi," sighed Blackarachnia, focusing her whipping powers on the insolent Starscream.

"I'm not fucking going anywhere," he snapped. "I'm not playing at the damn concert! I'm sick of waiting around for that son of a bitch!"

"_Listen_!" screamed Blackarachnia, slamming her hands into the table. Swindle flinched, but Starscream was not fazed.

"_Shut up!_" he shouted, downing his Energon a moment after, while managing to keep the vivid glare intact.

Blackarachnia ignored him, and she lowered her voice to avoid being conspicuous in the half-packed bar. She already had about ten dorky looking kids staring at her, and she didn't want to call any more attention. "Okay, Starscream," she muttered. She studied her fingernails intently. "I know Megatron will never admit this, but the Decepticons need you."

He regarded her with a bored expression on his face. "Because I'm the sexiest," he said.

Blackarachnia let a sigh escape her lips. She hated how she could hardly control Starscream. "I suppose, yes," she conceded. "And..." she tapped her fingers on the smooth glass of the table, "apparently Megatron will kick you out of his mansion? I'm not _quite_ sure how that works, but knowing Megatron, it's probably a terrible threat, hm?"

Starscream froze. "That _bastard_."

***

_11:50 PM, Autobots' dressing rooms_

Several fresh nipple rings and Sharpied tattoos later, Sari stepped back to admire her perfect band.

"Wow," was all Optimus could muster, as he shivered in the air-conditioned dressing room. Sari hadn't allowed him to wear a shirt, so he was absolutely freezing.

Bumblebee kept trying to fiddle with his crop top, because it was "too _tight_, Sari" but she assured him it was _fiiiiine_. "And this is supposed to make us really popular with everyone here?"

"A lot of our fans are coming just for the competition," said Sari with a smile. "I really know how to market boy bands, huh?"

"I'm sure..." muttered Prowl, fidgeting in his ridiculously skimpy spandex costume. It just didn't seem _right_.

"Seriously, stop _complaining_!" shouted Sari, shooting everyone death glares. "We're going in... five minutes," she continued, after checking her watch. Her eyes glinted cruelly for a hundredth of a second, so fast that no one could accuse her of ever having evil intentions. "You lose, and you _die_."

***

_11:55 PM, Decepticons' dressing rooms_

Starscream was still struggling into his pink button-down shirt and swearing while Megatron just laughed. The twenty-five year old kept using his two favourite words, "_fuck__ing_" and"bastard;" but it wasn't as cathartic as it should have been.

Meanwhile, Swindle was trying to figure out how to play his stupid _xylophone_ and he was getting frustrated. "I can't do this!" he yelled, massaging his head in aggravation.

"Oh Swindle, how slowly you learn," said Megatron mockingly. "The Decepticons can't play instruments. We merely have to _look_ the part."

"Well, that's just _great_," sighed the ex-businessman.

"It's pretty fucking easy," Starscream said arrogantly, giving up on trying to do all the buttons up on his shirt.

* * *

Yes, Skye is an OC. Isn't she just _great_? /sarcasm. She's just a plot device, don't worry. If anything, she'll be killed if she appears again, because no one likes her. And Andy is another device. He scares me. Huh. So uh, I hope that token angst bit made you laugh. ;D

Also, I _love_ how badass Sari is despite the fact that she doesn't swear.

I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, because it took me a long time to write, and my friend was threatening to make me listen to this horrible Korean girl group. .__. So yes, it was a painful journey, chapter 3. Because I'm too _cool_ to listen to that awful music.

Slash soon. My friend said her fingers were "itching to write smut." Hopefully I can get the next chapters up faster, but I'm busy with yet another fic.... LOL


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